


Target Practice

by ladygabe



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Finn needs to have Words with them, Gen, Poe's more of a background character in this, Post-Movie, competent!Finn, teacher!Finn, who gave the new recruits blasters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 21:33:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6130783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladygabe/pseuds/ladygabe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finn just wants to do his job. Unfortunately, the Resistance has new recruits that are going to put their eyes out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Target Practice

The loss of the Hosnian System had been, in a morbid way, a boon for the Resistance. No longer were they seen by the remnants of the Republic as rabble rousers and warmongers, but instead as heroes who represented desperately needed hope. Despite the disruption of trade and central authority the loss of Hosnian Prime had brought, supporters were coming out of the woodwork to offer the Resistance much needed ships and supplies. With the added backing came fresh recruits. Some were old soldiers coming out of retirement, others were skilled pilots from what remained of the Fleet, but most of them were ordinary citizens who had been left lost and angered by the destruction. 

For all they were very eager to help, they were very bad at it. 

Finn winced as heard another curse. He was seated at a workbench, a blaster pulled into parts in front of him, and trying very hard to ignore the other occupants of the room. Weapon repair was one of the few tasks his doctor has been willing to let him do, and did not want to jeopardize his only opportunity to do something besides lie in a bed all day. However, it was getting harder and harder to focus on oiling blaster parts while chaos reigned around him. A group of fresh recruits had found their way to the firing range, fumbling with guns they had obviously never even held before, much less shot. Their targets were pristine, as all of their blasts hit the wall instead, except on the rare occasion they hit the target _next_ to the one they were supposed to it. 

Finn kept himself together until one of them shot out a light, sending glass raining down onto the firing range. 

“STOP.” The recruits jumped, all spinning to face him with wide eyes. Finn leaned on the table, having jerked to his feet. His back complained about the abuse, but he straightened up, scowling at them. “What are you even doing? You’re all more likely to shoot each other than a target.” 

The would-be warriors glanced at each other and then at their feet, shuffling in a way that was as disorderly as everything else they did. Finn felt a brief flash of guilt at insulting them, as they had obviously been trying, but he was also pretty certain his statement was not _wrong_. 

He took stock of them. Four humans and three aliens. All slightly younger than him (at least, from what he could tell). Likely a group of friends. He wanted to tell them all that they were hopeless at this, and that they needed to go find something better suited to their skills, like washing dishes. It would spare him the pain of watching them abuse the blasters. 

But this was a war. Even if they shouldn’t be anywhere near a battlefield, they could very well end up no one. 

Even Slip had learned how to fire a blaster straight, Finn reminded himself. If he could, this lot should be able to do it. 

“Okay, seriously, have any of you ever shot a blaster before today?” There was silent shaking of heads. “Have you even _seen_ anyone shoot one?” 

“In holovids,” piped up one of the humans, a mousey young man with curly brown hair. Finn resisted the urge to drag his hand down his face. Was this why General Leia looked so harried all the time? 

“All of you, come stand in front of me. Whoa, keep the muzzle down!” The woman he snapped at looked sheepish, quickly swinging her blaster down towards the floor. “First, don’t point at anything you don’t want to shoot. In fact, why don’t you all just – put your weapons down? There. On the table.” Last thing Finn needed was to get shot on accident. Dr. Kalonia would never let him outside ever again. 

“Who are you?” one of them thought to ask, even as they all obeyed. 

“I’m Finn.” The startled looks on their faces told him that they knew who he was. Finn cleared his throat, wondering just what they had heard. “Who’re you all?” he asked in turn, before any of them could think of any more questions of their own. 

What he learned was that they were a group of students from what had been the Marack University of Liberal Arts on Hosnian Prime. They had been on a field trip with their professor to Corellia at the time of the attack. Their professor had defected to the Resistance almost immediately, and, having nowhere else to go, his students had followed. 

“We want to help,” said the mousey one, whose name was Trevin. 

“I just want to kick those bastards’ asses,” muttered Shyan, a woman with a face too severe for her age. Perhaps it had been kinder before Starkiller, Finn thought. His stomach flipped unpleasantly before he pushed the thought aside. 

“To do either of those things you need to learn how,” Finn said, picking up a blaster he had finished working on earlier. “To start, you need to know your weapon.” 

He made them recite every piece of the blaster before he let them pick up their own again. Then he taught them how to stand, walking along the line and adjusting grips. The non-human members of the group gave him pause, but after an awkward bit of fumbling on both sides Finn decided on the best way to hold a blaster if one had four arms – or none. 

Finn had finally allowed them to squeeze the trigger again when he noticed the man at the door – and the time. 

“Poe!” His chest tightened as he looked back at his workbench. A pile of unrepaired blasters littered it, having been completely forgotten. He had been given a single task, and he had blown it. 

“Hey, buddy.” So why was Poe smiling like that? “You know it’s nearly dinner time, right?” 

“I’m so sorry, I got distracted –“ Poe clapped him on the shoulder, cutting him off. 

“Sorry? For what?” 

“I didn’t get my work done,” Finn answered guiltily. 

His new protégés had taken notice of the newcomer, too, and quickly became as distressed as Finn. 

“It’s not his fault—“ 

“We were having a hard time!”

“I shot the light out, I distracted him—“ 

“He was being really helpful –“

“Whoa whoa whoa!” Poe laughed, holding his hands up to fend off the flood of explanations. “I know! I’ve been standing here since he told Haffle that he stood like he put his cup on backwards.” 

Everyone went quiet, and Haffle turned scarlet all the away to his ears. Finn felt his own cheeks heat. He had been watching all of that? 

Poe gave the students a conspiratorial grin that put them at ease. “He’s a pretty good teacher, huh?” 

“Really good!” Fiquar piped up, eyestalks swiveling between them. “We were actually starting to hit the targets.” 

“Hey, I could hit targets before!” Shyan protested. “Just… not _my_ targets.” Poe laughed again, clapping his hands together. 

“So, do you think I could convince him to start holding classes?” he whispered without being quiet at all, as if Finn could magically not hear him. 

“You should!” Trevin said quickly, ignoring Poe’s game and addressing Finn directly. 

“We’d come back to learn more,” Haffle agreed, even though he was still a bright shade of pink. 

The sudden attention caused Finn to shift, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I don’t know if I’m the best guy for the job—“ Phasma’s words came back to him about what a good commander he could have been, if he did not care so much. He already had grown attached to his new students, and he knew it would be the same for any group he taught. 

“You’ve got the knowledge,” Poe pointed out. “And they obviously like you.” Phasma’s voice was abruptly silenced. He was with the Resistance now. The Resistance, where maybe the strategy for shooting a blaster was the same, but affection was not a mark of weakness. He was looking at a Commander now, one who loved so much he wore it like a badge, one who cried when he lost a pilot in the air. 

Finn looked towards the hopeful group of young men and women, who in just a couple hours’ time had gone from walking disasters to people who might be able to defend themselves. They might live through a situation where they would have surely died before, and it would be because of him. 

He started to smile, and Poe cheered in victory before he could even speak. 

“I’ll see you all at nine-hundred hours tomorrow,” Finn said. 

The salutes that his new cadets gave him were sloppy and playful, but somehow he felt more respected in that moment than he ever had.


End file.
